


Noise complaint

by kagme



Series: Every reality with you [3]
Category: Twosetviolin, Video Blogging RPF, twoset violin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Concertmaster!Brett, Flirting, Fluff, Happy, Humor, M/M, Neighbors, Teacher!Eddy, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:21:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25470802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kagme/pseuds/kagme
Summary: A knock on his door takes him out of food-orientated fantasies.He hopes it’s not the dude next door, drunk out of his wits before 5 p.m, asking if Armanda is there, because Brett has no clue who Armanda is, even after being asked four times. And if she was this dude’s ex-girlfriend, he kind of understands why she’s not around anymore.So he leaves the kitchen and opens the front door with maybe a little more force than necessary.“Hey. Huh- I’m sorry to bother you, but was that you playing the violin?”It’s not the drunk from next door.
Relationships: Eddy Chen & Brett Yang, Eddy Chen/Brett Yang
Series: Every reality with you [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2081190
Comments: 82
Kudos: 277





	1. First movement

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文-普通话 國語 available: [【授权翻译】Noise Complaint](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26044996) by [Jonnayoly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jonnayoly/pseuds/Jonnayoly)



> Hey! This is just a short, cute, fluffy, feel-good fiction to give you a break from all the angst in [MeloMania](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25096306/chapters/60795517). It will be split into two or three parts.
> 
> Thank you Ria for your super efficient beta reading :)

They climb, and climb, and climb, the slow notes on his violin, but still, stay whispered. Soft and controlled. Toward the inevitable climax. He doesn’t realize he’s swaying to his own music, eyes closed and devoted to the sound. It carries a gentleness in its strength and his chest expands around it. There’s a shiver in his spine when he hits the resolution, the brass would come here and-

A growl crashes his focus, his bow skids on the strings. His eyes flutter open, to the white walls of his apartment, the sun casting shadows by the window tells him it is late afternoon already and he remembers he hasn’t eaten anything since the two pieces of toast from this morning. The growl comes back full force, and his stomach is the culprit. 

His fingers are tense around his bow, and his neck cracks when he stretches it. 

God, he over practiced. And he’s starving.

He slowly puts down his violin, and steps into the kitchen. His whole body feels stiff. Half of him just wants to order something, but the other half is scolding him about the amount of money he has left. This other half, strangely, has the same voice as his mother. 

It will just be rice then.

He would feel down about it; about living in this tiny apartment with thin walls at twenty-eight, in this grey building, in this dirty neighborhood. About the rice two nights out of three if he still wants to afford bubble tea or an evening out with his friends every now and then. About the shower sputtering either scalding water or what feels like ice cubes against his skin.

But he doesn’t. He finds himself admiring the new tags on the walls when he comes back from rehearsal, smiling when he can hear the children from the floor below giggling or arguing, enjoying every last drop of his bubble tea without resenting his very monochrome diet. He was ready for all of this when he became a professional musician, and it is worth every kind of struggle.

Brett is mostly happy with life.

The gas under the pan full of water comes to life with a crackling sound, and blue flames lick at the bottom of the stainless steel pot. He should have asked his mother for a rice cooker, he absently thinks as he stares at the water - maybe hoping for it to heat faster under his glare - images of hot pot and fried noodles behind his eyelids every time he blinks. 

A knock on his door takes him out of food-orientated fantasies.

He hopes it’s not the dude next door, drunk out of his wits before 5 p.m, asking if Armanda is there, because Brett has no clue who Armanda is, even after being asked four times. And if she was this dude’s ex-girlfriend, he kind of understands why she’s not around anymore.

So he leaves the kitchen and opens the front door with maybe a little more force than necessary.

“Hey. Huh- I’m sorry to bother you, but was that you playing the violin?”

It’s not the drunk from next door.

The guy in front of him is insanely cute, and he shouldn’t be, with his wiry glasses, bunny teeth showing, messy hair and acne scars. But it somehow works for him. Maybe it’s the sparkles in his slanted eyes, maybe it’s the broad shoulders, maybe it’s that he's tall enough that Brett barely reaches his nose, maybe it’s the way his lower lip juts out, shiny and bitten. Whatever it is, it’s working. 

He’s fidgeting with the hem of his black sweatshirt, as if embarrassed to even be here - one of his hands could probably cover both of Brett’s own. 

“Depends, if it’s beautiful and smooth, that’s a recording. If you can hear the same bar being badly played thirty-two times in a row, a bit more angrily every time, then yeah that’s me.”

The guy bursts out laughing and relaxes his stance, he’s not even cute anymore, but handsome now. Brett feels really good about himself for bringing that expression on his face, and he knows the left corner of his lip is rising on its own.

Then there’s a whistle, the very recognizable sound of water boiling, splashing, and the gas going crazy.

“Fuck, the water!”

He’s halfway to the kitchen when he throws a look behind him to see the stranger, hesitant on his doorstep, head peeking inside the apartment.

“Just- just come in.”

The sun is streaming through the window, puddles of soft light caressing the furniture, gliding on the floor. Brett is putting the fire on the lowest setting when he hears the door closing, and taking rice from the cupboard above when the guy speaks again. 

“I’m sorry, it really won’t take long. I’ll leave you to your…” he looks at the time on his phone and shrugs. “To your afternoon rice. It’s just- I just moved here, and I could hear you play so…”

He has known where this was going from the moment the guy mentioned the violin playing and he groans.

“I know, I’m very sorry. I’ll try to make less noise, but even with the mute on, the walls are damn thin, and I really need the practice, I’ve got this symphony by the end of the week and-”

“Oh. Oh no,” the guy is threading a hand through his hair, shaking his head with a smile and a small chuckle, managing to look both confident and shy. It’s strangely charming. “This isn’t a noise complaint.”

“What is it then?”

“I’m a musician too, and I really liked the way you played earlier. Sibelius 7th symphony, right? The first violin part?” Brett nods. “I- Huh. Oh God, this is awkward. I guess I kinda wanted to know if you would be up for some chamber music?”

*

His new neighbor’s name is Eddy Chen, he’s twenty-seven, he’s a violin teacher at the conservatory and he loves his job but misses the thrill of performing, the spark of making a piece come alive with other musicians. He accompanies some students on the piano, from time to time, but it doesn’t give him the satisfaction he’s looking for, he tells him. They make about the same amount of money, have about the same lack of free time, and joke about the harsh musician life. The similarities do not stop here, the guy is from Taiwan too, and around stories of their almost identical childhood, they find themselves ordering bubble tea, because they only have to talk about it for the craving to manifest itself. Brett offers to share his rice, but his kindness gets declined - something about having actual meals at proper times of the day. He rolls his eyes because he doesn’t understand how one can be a musician _and_ have a healthy lifestyle.

Eddy has a dorky laugh, nice arms, and he keeps alternating between shy and excited, as if he forgets himself in the passion, then becomes afraid his enthusiasm about music will put Brett off. Which is ridiculous, because Brett is pretty sure he mentioned more than once in the conversation that he is a _professional musician._

When the sun lowers its rays inside the kitchen, casting evening shadows over their faces, Eddy startles and looks at his phone.

“Shit. And here I said it wouldn’t take long. I’m sorry for taking your time. I should go back home, I still have some classes to prepare and it’s now an appropriate time to have an actual dinner too,” the look he sends Brett at that would be full of reproach if there wasn’t an amused spark in his eyes, and the corner of his lip twitching. 

“Yeah, well, I’ll leave you to your healthy lifestyle and go back to my life of decadence then. It was nice meeting you Eddy, don’t worry, I enjoyed talking and chilling a bit after practicing all day.”

“Yeah, same. So, when are you free for chamber music?”

“I don’t have rehearsal on Mondays and Tuesdays, but with the concert coming up, I won’t have much time to do anything but practice. Just give me your number, I’ll tell you on WhatsApp when I can, but it’s probably not going to be before next week.”

“Yeah sure, I’m warning you though, you’ll have some competition in the ‘being the most noisy’ neighbor contest, because I have a tendency to practice at odd hours. So if another violin is interrupting your practice, it’s probably going to be me.”

“That’s another form of chamber music, hey. Let’s see who can be the loudest.”

“And get kicked out of the building in a week? I just moved here, man, I’m not ready to repack what little I’ve installed.”

They laugh, exchange one or two last banalities and say goodbye. The door closes behind Eddy, the sun has set.

He feels a bit unsettled in his own skin.

  
  


Brett is cleaning the mess on the kitchen table when he hears music from upstairs. More specifically the first violin part of the Sibelius Symphony No.7. It starts in the middle of the piece, so randomly it cannot be a coincidence, and he realizes it is the exact same spot where he left off when he went to make his rice.

He runs to his violin, trips on the foot of the low table in his living room and takes over the piece, giggling like a five years old boy when he hears the other going fortissimo from another side of the building.

Holy moly, this is so dumb.

The grin on his lips stays on his face until he falls asleep. His cheeks hurt a bit.

*

This keeps going on during the week, like the strangest and funniest flirt Brett ever took part in. They don’t even really text. Eddy will send him a message once a while, with the name of a piece and a question mark. Brett will answer by playing it loudly in the evening if he knows it, and wait for the other musician to take over. They manage to go over three different pieces like this, and Brett thinks he enjoys this a bit too much, with how childlike it is. They send each other secret smiles when they pass by each other in the stairway, but with the eye roll the old lady on the first floor gives them once, Brett guesses there’s not much secrets to have when the whole building can hear them. It is a wonder nobody complained yet.

*

Brett has to do a double take when he looks down at the public. There’s an awful lot of _students_ for a classical concert. His eyebrows frown in confusion, before rising on his forehead when he meets the gaze of his neighbor in the audience. Brett barely has the time to gape before the conductor enters, and he can’t afford to focus on anything else but the music. He’s the concertmaster, he doesn’t have the leisure to screw up.

This time, when the music climbs and climbs and climbs, there is no hungry stomach to stop him, and he breathes with the melody. Release and reload the emotion. His chest never stops expanding around Sibelius and he feels big enough to swallow the universe.

*

“So, did you order the entirety of the conservatory student body to come to the concert?” Brett tries for casual, but he’s already smiling. 

There’s noise all around them, musicians packing up, spectators discussing the performance, and it almost feels as if the music never stopped.

His neighbor has the decency to look somewhat embarrassed, but he’s grinning too.

“I didn’t _order_ them, but I might have mentioned the concert in one or two of my classes. And the fact that Sibelius is one of my favorite composers. Something about an extra mark might also be open to interpretation, but I stayed vague on that.”

Brett is laughing when a girl passes by and waves at them.

“You were right! It was brilliant! Thank you for letting us know about the concert, have a good evening Professor Chen.”

“I’m glad you liked it, I’ll see you in class next week. Take care,” the teacher raises his hand and nods one last time to his student before zeroing his attention on him again. 

“She’s right, your practice paid off, hey.”

But Brett’s having a difficult time focusing on his words, because Eddy in a sharp suit, hair falling prettily over his right eye, being called _Professor Chen_ hits a bit different. There’s something about the man that’s definitely not shy now, a teacher persona that sticks to him like a second skin, soft but confident. Different from the man, cozy in his sweatshirt, that was almost stuttering in his kitchen when he asked Brett to play with him.

“Thanks,” he hears himself say by reflex, and he’s glad he sounds normal.

*

“Who was that?” Hyung has his eyebrows raised in judgement, following the retreating silhouette of _Professor Chen_ \- he will probably get over it at one point, but not tonight.

“The new neighbor I told you about.” There’s a smirk that starts growing on his friend’s face, and Brett definitely does not want to hear what’s going to come out of his mouth, so he adds quickly. “About that, can you come play with us next Tuesday? To maybe try and play a quartet? Eddy’s already got a violist friend coming.”

“Oh. So it’s not ‘ _the new neighbor’_ , it’s ‘ _Eddy’._ ”

“Yes, Hyung. Calling him ‘ _the new neighbor’_ every time would be pretty impractical. So, can you come?”

“No I’ll leave you two alone, besides I have lunch with my sister on Tuesday, so maybe next time.”

“We won’t be alone,” he rolls his eyes. “I told you, he’s got friends coming.”

“If the friends never show up, that means he’s hitting on you,” Ray helpfully provides from where he’s shrugging his jacket on.

*

The friends never show up.

“So, when you said _chamber music_ you meant…” Brett stares away from the music sheet to glance at the man beside him, violin dangling from his fingers.

He feels like a mix between sweatshirt-shy-neighbor-Eddy and suit-confident-Professor-Chen today, with the black jumper over his white dress shirt, sleek look broken by tousled hair and a soft smile. Brett wonders if the violinist made an effort this morning, if he ran his hands through his hair to have them artfully fall back on his forehead, knowing he would have Brett around this afternoon. Maybe wanting to impress him a little - it’s working.

Brett knows _he_ did. Knows he changed shirts at least three times before leaving his apartment, then gave up, thinking he was ridiculous, because they would just be playing music and what he was wearing shouldn’t matter. But now he eyes Eddy, and maybe he should have changed a fourth time.

“Huh, yeah, sorry. Didn’t want to mislead you, but duets are still technically chamber music, hey.”

He was expecting- Brett doesn’t really know what he was expecting when he sent a message to his neighbor with his availability, but it wasn’t that. _That_ being the two of them very much alone in Eddy’s living room, the only music sheets out being for duets, and bubble tea on a corner of the table. Ray’s laughing face pops into his mind.

“Are you hitting on me?”

“What?” Eddy’s jaw drops as his face starts going crimson. “No. No, no, I swear it’s for the music! This isn’t an elaborate ploy or anything. I just really- I really just want to play!”

“It’s okay if you are,” Brett can’t help but answer, lips twitching up. 

The guy becomes so red he can’t even stutter his next words out and just gives up, firmly grabbing his violin without looking at Brett.

“I’ll have other friends coming for the quartet. I just couldn’t convince them to come today,” he finally mumbles, defending himself in the middle of tuning.

“If you say so,” Brett can’t stop smiling by now, and his face is hurting from trying to contain it.

“No, look!” Eddy is taking his phone from his pocket and shoving it under his nose. It’s a Messenger group chat titled ‘ _Save Eddy from himself’_ and he doesn’t even want to guess. “See? The last messages! The pianist is the one saying _I’ll be there next week,_ and _Me too_ is from the violist.”

“It’s okay, I don’t need to see your private convo,” Brett is fully laughing by now, pushing the screen away from himself. “I believe you, I was just messing with you.”

“Oh my God, you- I can’t believe you! My friends and colleagues tease me enough with that. I don’t need the source of the teasing to be part of it.”

“Ha, sorry, I couldn’t help it,” he chuckles. “If it makes you feel better, my friends are doing it too. The day you came to our concert, my cellist friend was all,” he wiggles his eyebrow, getting a snort from Eddy, whose face is still pink.

“Yeah, you would believe it’s impossible to make friends now,” his neighbor agrees, going over a quick scale to warm up. “You just have to mention you’ve been talking to someone cute once, and everybody becomes crazy.”

“Am I someone cute?”

“Holy- would you stop it?”

Brett is laughing so hard he sounds a bit like a Gremlin, but Eddy doesn’t seem to mind, if the smile on the corner of his lips is any indication.

“Maybe we should play something now? That’s the whole reason you’re here.”

“Hey, for once, the neighbors will actually hear us play together, instead of aggressively taking over the same piece from different floors of the building.”

They spend the next few hours going over music sheets, testing the difficulty, the melody, how good or bad they sound together, laughing occasionally, when they do something especially bad, grinning when they sound especially good. There is a special kind of sharp softness to Eddy’s playing, when they’re not goofing around. He seems to like the slow pieces better, closing his eyes and melting into it, like he isn’t really _there_ anymore, opening his chest without realizing, and what is inside seems fragile but powerful. Brett remembers him saying - _Sibelius is one of my favorite composers -_ and, oh. How good the Sibelius violin concerto would feel on him.

They settle on the Wieniawski Etude-Caprice, because it’s new for the both of them, and it’s short enough it won’t eat on their already packed schedule. Then Eddy throws a forlorn look at the pile of boxes cluttering the room and sighs. Save for those, the apartment is tidy enough; the grand piano occupies most of the living space - Brett doesn’t even want to know how it was brought up here, the stairs are definitely narrow - there is a mug of tea forgotten on the low table, next to a laptop, their now empty cups of bubble tea, a bunch of papers and music sheets thrown around and miscellaneous items, but the place doesn’t feel quite lived in yet. 

“That was nice, we should do that again! Work on the duet a bit, and maybe a quartet or a quintet if our other friends ever decide to come,” the professor smiles at him, putting down his violin before stretching. “But I’m afraid my place is going to be a bit too small for five musicians. And that noise complaint _will_ happen.”

“Yeah, maybe we can use one of the practice rooms of my orchestra, since we’re not rehearsing on Mondays and Tuesdays, I’ll ask and let you know. But as long as it’s just the both of us, your place or mine is fine I think. I mean, we managed some _interesting_ music the past week, without even being in the same apartment.”

There it is, this shyness that comes without warning, vibrating under Eddy’s laugh, creeping in his eyes, Brett wants to tell him there’s nothing to be embarrassed about, that he enjoyed their weird musical back and forth, whatever it was motivated by. But it feels a bit too revealing, so he doesn’t say anything more, just waits for his neighbor to scramble some confidence and answer.

“You were right, though, the walls are too damn thin, it’s crazy. I don’t think any kind of intimacy is possible in this building.”

Brett opens his mouth.

“I swear to God, if you make any comment about my sentence being suggestive, I’m throwing you out,” Eddy warns with squinted eyes, pink already scrambling up on his cheeks.

Brett closes his mouth, lips tight around his badly contained smile. He doesn’t even really know what’s taking over him, there is this strange elation bursting in his chest when he manages to get a cute reaction from the violin teacher, that makes him want to jump around and joke until he can see the tears of laughter in the other’s eyes. He feels unstoppable.

“On second thought, I’ll probably have to throw you out anyway,” Eddy sighs and points to the stacks of boxes. “I still have tons of stuff to unpack before this shitty apartment starts feeling like a home. Thank you for today though, I really appreciate you taking some time off your busy orchestral musician practice to play with me.”

“Anytime, it was fun!”

They are smiling at each other, awkwardly standing in the living room, and neither is moving. For some reason, Brett doesn’t want to leave just yet. The place is exactly as tiny as his own, and there is nothing much to do apart from playing music, which is what they have done for the past three hours. 

“Do you need help with unpacking?”

As soon as the words are out of his mouth, Brett wants to take them back. The guy is so easy to be around, the discussion between them flowing so freely, he almost forgot he has known him for no more than two weeks. And unpacking is- unpacking is intimate in a way, unraveling bits and pieces of your private life and setting them around you to make a home, building your own space. He’s a bit scared Eddy will think it’s too intrusive, will get embarrassed and pull back. But then it is too late anyway, and the rational part of his brain reminds him the teacher actually _asked_ him to come here and play, multiple times, bought bubble tea for them and played violin for him at odd hours of the evening. So it should be fine. It should be.

His neighbor still looks a bit taken aback, blinks and scratches his head.

“I- Huh- yeah, sure. If it’s not too much trouble, but it’s okay really. You don’t need to. You must be tired and everything.”

“Nah, it’s cool. I’m done with practice for today anyway, so I don’t have anything important to do.”

Eddy’s grin is bright and happy, and warmth spreads from Brett’s chest to his stomach.

They move around carrying boxes, and he’s in charge of the kitchen while Eddy is putting away the packed clothes in his closet.

“How long do you think you’ll be staying?” he doesn’t even have to raise his voice to be heard, even if the other man is in a different room. The couple that lives next door can probably hear their whole discussion if they pay any attention.

“A while probably, my position at the con feels pretty permanent, and I don’t think I’ll have the money to rent a better place somewhere else. Plus, the neighbors are nice around here,” there is a lilt to his voice as he utters the last sentence.

“And then you say you’re not flirting…” Brett smirks as he puts a ladle into a drawer - none of those kitchen appliances seems to have ever been used.

“So you’re saying the neighbors _aren’t_ nice around here? I’m sorry I can’t compliment the lovely people of this building without being accused of hitting on someone.”

Brett fully laughs at that; as much as he finds the blushing and the stuttering adorable, it’s nice that after spending most of the day together, his neighbor has built up enough confidence around him to tease back.

“You should meet the guy next door from my place before calling all the people here lovely. If someone knocks on your door at strange hours, and starts yelling about an Armanda, don’t answer. Hey, where do you want to put the blue flowered plates?”

“Cupboard left of the oven. And that sounds like the beginning of a horror story.”

“At least, if you start screaming the whole building will hear you. Maybe someone will be brave enough to help.”

“Won’t that someone be you?”

“Dude. Have you seen my arms? My height? I’m pretty sure you’re going to do a much better job at defending yourself without me around. You can throw those beautiful floral plates at whatever is threatening you.”

“I wouldn’t dare, my mother gave them to me. If she ever comes to visit and can’t see them, she won’t care that I used them to defend myself from a psychopath.”

The discussion keeps flowing, and some part of Brett can’t believe this is happening. That he feels so at ease around this person he didn’t know existed two weeks ago, that he wants to play with him again, to hear more life stories, to see the other facets of his personality, spanning from shy to confident. Every shade. He wants to hear him give a class, see if he’s a good teacher, wants to hear him play seriously, maybe a concerto or a sonata.

“Hey, it’s getting late, I think that’s enough unpacking for today. Do you want some dinner with me since you’re already here?” Eddy is smiling at him, his bunny teeth are showing, his sleeves are rolled up and his hair is messier than earlier, sticking up in odd places. 

There’s a strange pang of longing for this man he barely knows in Brett’s chest.

“Yeah, sure. Plus your kitchen is almost operational now,” he declares, proud of his work.

“I would offer to cook something for you as a thank you, but I’m a disaster in the kitchen. I pretty much only use the coffee maker.”

“Well, I know how to make rice.”

Eddy burst out laughing, and Brett knows he isn't that funny, but it’s nice to have someone enjoying his attempts at humor that much.

“Yeah, I remember that. But I have nothing to eat it with, and I want more than white rice after today. What do you think about take-out? My treat, since you helped me so much.”

“I mean, I’m not gonna say no to free food.”

*

A few floors below, they can hear the kids screaming, some kind of cutlery falling, and the voice of the mother yelling at them to ‘ _please eat your soup without throwing spoons at each other’._

They share a look over the spicy chicken, and start giggling.

“Is it always like that?” Eddy asks around a mouthful.

“Yeah, I swear this building is so chaotic,” he shakes his head with a smile.

“You sound fond.”

“I like it here, weirdly enough.”

“Mh,” his neighbor is looking at him, chin propped up on the palm of his left hand, chopsticks unmoving in the other. There is something gentle on his face, swimming in the dark brown of his eyes, gliding on the curve of his lip, and Brett’s tongue is dry.

Then there’s more shouting - _That’s enough, the three of you, to your bedroom! Now! -_ and the moment is broken.

“I don’t remember being this rowdy as a child,” Eddy shakes himself out of it and chuckles. “Though my sister and I avoided many a slipper.”

“Ah. Asian parents.”

“Yeah.”

They fall into a comfortable silence, happy to munch on the take-out Chinese food spread between the two of them. There’s not a lot, but it’s enough, and definitely better than white rice.

The conversation starts back from time to time, exchanges of trivia, and tidbits of their life. Nothing too personal, but enough that, by the end of the meal, Brett feels like he has known this other musician his whole life.

Eddy’s sister is a musician too, she plays the piano and is the one who got the professor into music in the first place, so Brett talks about his little brother who saved the family’s honor by becoming a doctor.

Eddy doesn’t take himself very seriously, and thinks the world would be a better place if people learned to chill, so Brett tells if he had one advice he would give his younger self, it would be to chill out.

Eddy is introverted, but likes hanging out with friends and can talk quite a lot when he feels at ease, so Brett laugh about being extroverted and doing stupid challenges in high school where he would be dared to serenade random people on the violin.

There’s brightness between their shared laughter, and a day spent playing some duets and helping a neighbor settle a kitchen that’ll never be used shouldn’t leave Brett feeling so fulfilled.

“The advantage of hanging out with your neighbor is you don’t have to dread the drive back to your place, however tired you are,” he yawns, violin case in his hand, ready to crash in his bed and fall asleep smiling to the memories of today.

Eddy shrugs with a small - _yeah -_ and the shyness is back. His hands are nervous, fingers playing with the hem of his rolled sleeve and his tongue darts to wet his lips. He looks small, like he wants to retreat inside his own body when he says without looking at him:

“But maybe- Maybe we’re friends too, now?”

This is so stupidly adorable and childish Brett wants to hug the insecurity out of this twenty seven years old big baby.

“Yeah,” he chuckles, “Yeah, I think we can say we’re friends.”

Dread starts climbing in the other’s eyes, as if he just realized what came out of his mouth and a blush takes over his face.

“Fuck. I sounded so lame I’m-”

“It’s okay,” he interrupts with laughter in his voice. “It’s okay, really, it was cute. I’m glad I’m your friend. Good night Eddy.”

“Good night Brett.”

And as he goes down the stairs toward his own apartment, he hears a mortified groan, and the bang of what he’s pretty sure is the collision of Eddy’s forehead against the kitchen table.

He laughs so loudly some of the neighbors shush him.


	2. Second movement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feelings spill from him as the notes spill from Eddy’s violin through the following months. 
> 
> Halted and insecure in the beginning. As time passes, they get more fluid, passages a bit smoother each time, and Brett feels privileged to hear how the piece is getting better and better, to be there from the first halted stages of practice until it sounds like a full performance.
> 
> (Or, the chapter were Brett falls in love with his idiot of a neighbor)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, this was supposed to be a two-shot, but halfway through this, I knew I couldn’t close it in two chapters only, and I liked were it ended, so it’s three parts now, yay, but this chapter is shorter than the previous one.
> 
> Nothing much to say apart from enjoy the fluff :D

“This was a date.”  
  


“It really wasn’t, we played for almost the whole time we were together, and then emptied boxes.”  
  


“It was a musician's date. Still a date.”  
  


“Ray…”  
  


“No, no, no, Brett. Listen to me. He invited you, _alone,_ to his place-”  
  


“Hyung and Eddy’s friends were supposed to show up,” Brett corrects, eying Hyung who pretends not to notice him.  
  


“-Where he was waiting for you, all dressed up with bubble tea he had bought for you-” Ray continues as if he was never interrupted.  
  


“He just had jeans and a jumper.”  
  


“-You played duets together for the whole day-”  
  


“Don’t forget the part where we _unpacked his stuff for hours_.”

  
“-And then the two of you shared a romantic dinner-”  
  


“Chicken and noodles eaten directly from the box, with the kids from the apartment below screaming.”  
  


“Brett! Stop being in denial, it was a date!”  
  


He bursts out laughing and shakes his head.  
  


“You’ve already got a girlfriend, Ray, you don’t need to try and live your love life vicariously through mine. And you’ve never even met the guy.”  
  


“I’ve seen him from afar, the day of the Sibelius Symphony concert. He looks hot, in a nerdy kind of way.”  
  


The conductor clears his throat and taps at his stand; it is their sign break is over. Brett can’t believe he spent the entirety of it arguing with Ray over whether or not last night was a date.  
  


It doesn’t matter, in the end, what it was.   
  


He had fun.  
  


Things are easy between Brett and his neighbor - _friend_ he corrects himself with an amused smile, remembering the banging sound and mortified groan - natural in a way that most of his relationships weren’t. And he wants to keep it that way without thinking too hard about it. Wants to know more about the man without ulterior motive. Wants to spend time with him without questioning himself.

*

They end up meeting, all those people that had only heard about the other’s existence. In one of the orchestra’s practice rooms.  
  


Brett meets Sophie, she was one of Eddy’s first students at the con, but mainly plays the piano now that she’s graduated. She’s humble and sweet, down to earth and Brett feels grounded around her.   
  


Then there’s Alex, who met Eddy in university. The two of them played a lot of duets for piano and violin apparently, even won a bunch of competitions together. He’s witty and funny, and already made Brett laugh to tears a couple of times.  
  


He also learns about Emma, the classical saxophonist who teaches at the same conservatory as Eddy. She’s cheerful and bright, and her positivity is already rubbing off on him a bit.  
  


Dave the violist couldn’t come, so they’ll have to do without him, Eddy apologizes.   
  


From his side, Brett managed to have Hyung, Phoebe and Tijana show up, with Ray tagging along, and it feels like a small miracle that they managed to gather everyone in the same room.  
  


He doesn’t even know what they can play; they have two pianists, three violinists, a harpist, a saxophonist, a cellist, a contrabassist and no violist.   
  


Everybody is talking at the same time, one or two are playing their instrument and there is so much chaos Brett has an out of body moment where he wonders what the heck he’s doing there, in this room full of musicians from every horizon, when he already plays in an orchestra with half of them, and this is one of his only days off.   
  


Then he sees Eddy, from the other side of the room. He looks a bit overwhelmed by the amount of people in the room, shoulders tense and laughter nervous as Ray is enthusiastically speaking to him. Brett chuckles and wonders if the man ever gets shy with his own students. The thought is oddly endearing.  
  


The professor catches his eyes and his smile is instantly more genuine, gait relaxing and his face does a thing that makes him look both sharper and softer. Brett can feel the corner of his own eyes crinkling.   
  


It should be obvious that Ray chooses that time to turn and look at the object of his interlocutor’s attention. The grin that spreads on his face when he catches them staring at each other is so wide, Brett almost wants to punch him in the teeth.

*

His perception of his new friend shifts with the months that trickle by.  
  


His apartment isn’t as tidy as Brett thought; it’s never mayhem, but as the place starts to be more lived in, there are shirts thrown over the back of chairs, cups strewn around every flat surface, empty take out boxes that he didn’t bother to throw out, lesson plans scattered in random places, and Brett can see Eddy’s personality spread all around them when they play in here.  
  


His lifestyle isn’t as healthy as Brett thought; sure, he takes his meals at reasonable hours and works out, but he will sleep until noon if he doesn’t have classes to give, only eats take out, drinks about as much bubble tea as him, and Brett doesn’t feel ashamed about his own bad habits when Eddy opens the door, bleary eyed at 1p.m.   
  


His personality isn’t as humble as Brett thought; sure, he lacks confidence and is mostly modest about his violin skills, but he can brag about the stupidest things, show off his perfect pitch every chance he gets, preens under the other’s appreciative glances when he knows he looks good, and Brett finds himself equal part annoyed and charmed by Eddy’s random of bursts of confidence.  
  


His tastes aren’t as classically orientated as Brett thought; sure, his repertoire is mostly classical music, but he also listen to Korean K-pop bands, knows the dances by heart, watches animes and gushes about fictional characters, plays on his violin his favorite soundtracks and pop songs, and Brett learns that with Eddy there is so much more outside of his little classical bubble.  
  


His humor isn’t as witty as Brett thought; sure, he’s funny and makes him laugh more often than not, but he can’t stop the bad puns, always looks proud of himself afterward, teeth resting on his lower lip. His dad jokes get worse and worse, and Brett looks at this big idiot laughing so hard at his own terrible humor and can’t believe he’s getting so attached.  
  


The more he learns about those imperfections, the further the fondness spreads.

*

There is a bag dangling from each of his hands, the handle of two others digging into the skin of his wrists, and his keys are held between his teeth, as he pushes his face against the door to try to get the badge close enough to the magnet and let himself inside the building.   
  


He should have suspected it, he thinks when the door opens from the inside and hits him in the nose. He groans around the keys in his mouth.   
  


“Oh my God! I’m so sorry- Brett?”  
  


Eddy blinks at him, his hand still holding the door of their building open, his lips twitch in what looks like a mix between concerned and amused as his gaze travels over him. There is this same sweetness permeating the air between them whenever they are in the same vicinity, and Brett finds himself wanting to smile already despite the pain in his nose.  
  


“Which orchestra are you trying to feed?”  
  


“Humph.”  
  


“Wait, let me help you,” his friend laughs, taking three bags from him.  
  


Brett sighs in relief as his jaw relaxes around the keys, he can finally take them out of his mouth and rub at his abused nose. Eddy winces.   
  


“Sorry about that, really, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”  
  


“No, it’s really not your fault,” he chuckles back. “I think you can be free of opening the door without having to suspect your stupid neighbor is rubbing his face all over it.”  
  


The teacher is already going back toward the staircase, holding the door open with his free arm for Brett.  
  


“What are you even doing with all of this?”  
  


“I literally had nothing to eat at my place, my kitchen was almost as empty as yours. I’ve been postponing grocery shopping for weeks now. But don’t let me keep you, you were going somewhere?”  
  


“Nah it’s okay, I was about to grab lunch outside actually, but now that you bought so much, I guess you can make lunch for two? I already gave all of my classes this morning, so I’m not in any hurry this afternoon,” he grins cheekily and Brett shakes his head with fondness.  
  


“Man, I can’t believe you. Look at you inviting yourself to my place and asking for food when five months ago you couldn’t even stay a few hours without feeling guilty.”  
  


“Character development,” Eddy quips back, already climbing up the stairs, hoisting the three bags full of groceries over his shoulder like they weigh nothing, and Brett would be jealous if he wasn’t licking his lips. “I’ll help carry these as payment for lunch.”  
  


“He’ll make a good husband,” the old lady from the first floor whispers to him as he passes by her, nodding approvingly.  
  


For a second he thinks Eddy didn’t hear, but then the fucker glances back at him and wiggles his eyebrows with a smirk.  
  


“Does that means you’re my wife? Brettany bae will you cook lunch for me?”  
  


Brett wants to retort something clever, but when he catches up with the teacher, he spies the blush creeping on his face and the softness in his eyes so he closes his mouth and can’t help the curl of his own lips.  
  


He’s glad he isn’t the only flustered one.

*

“Why did you decide to teach?” Brett asks around a mouthful, and he would feel bad about speaking and eating at the same time, but Eddy is doing the same, and anyway, he cooked lunch for the guy so he better not complain about Brett’s manners.  
  


“Wasn’t good enough to be a soloist.”  
  


Brett almost spits his food from laughter, but manages to hold it in and instead just chokes a little. There are tears in his eyes when Eddy pats him, his hand large enough to cover a good third of his back and he relishes in the heat he can feel through his shirt.   
  


“You okay, mate?” the other man looks so proud of himself despite the slight worry in his voice, and it’s cute how pleased he always seems when he makes Brett laugh.  
  


This is a vicious circle really, Eddy is delighted when he makes him laugh, and seeing him so happy of making him happy makes Brett even more happy. Too much happiness is going around and Brett is afraid he’ll drown in it, his head is spinning already.  
  


He downs a glass of water, and coughs a couple more times before drying his tears. Eddy’s hand is still on his back, and it drags down a bit, the heat traveling from his shoulder blades to the small of his back, the callosity of his fingertips catching on Brett’s shirt. They share a look and his friend’s smile falls slowly, to let his expression settle into the same intensity with which he plays. He inhales, loudly, and that’s when Brett realizes his own breath is stuck in his lungs.  
  


The note stays suspended in the air. Refuses to go on. Spreading an ocean of possibility. The music could go in any direction now, but nobody gave them the sheet and they have no idea where the next note will bring them.   
  


Brett feels willing to take the fall, but then Eddy exhales and blinks. Everything about him retreats; the hand on Brett’s back, the intensity in his eyes, the face that somehow had gotten close to his own.  
  


He can read the - _Not yet -_ written on his neighbor’s expression, the slight panic that made him back off, and Brett doesn’t know why, but it makes him smile. That this isn’t a joke for the other, that he wants to take his time with him, that Brett somehow got important enough he’s worth panicking about.  
  


So he chuckles and the softness and comprehension is probably leaking out of him, because the fear melts from Eddy’s face, only leaving relief in the form of a toothy grin.   
  


His friend grabs his chopsticks and shoves some vegetables into his mouth, chewing for a while, and Brett can almost see the gears turning in his head before he talks again.  
  


“To answer your question a bit more seriously, I had a major breakdown in music uni at one point, there was also a bad injury involved and my life was really shitty at the time. So there was this period I couldn’t play at all, and I had to really think about my life’s choices, what I wanted to do with my music, when I would get it back, what I should change about it and such. And I wished that some of my teachers could have given me the advice I needed at the time, because there really wasn’t anybody around me to help. And from then I started thinking - _If I was a teacher, I would have said that - I would have help them correct this - I would have tried to make them think about what is music for them - I wouldn’t have yelled like that -_ and before I realized it, it became my goal, to try and help other students get better at the violin without having to go through the same kind of breakdown.”

  
“Hey, I’m sorry about that.”  
  


“Nah, don’t be, it was a while ago, I’m way past that now. I wouldn’t say I’m glad I went through that, but it really shaped me to be the person I’m today, and I don’t regret it. I also really, really love my job, especially now that I get to do some chamber music with amazing people,” his eyes twinkle. “And how was your uni life?”  
  


“Honestly, I was practicing so much I don’t remember a lot apart from the partying in the first year, and then practice rooms, practice rooms and practice rooms.”  
  


Eddy laughs easily, and anything that was heavy between them evaporates.  
  


“Can I come?” Brett asks as a non sequitur.   
  


“To what?”  
  


“One of your lessons, since I have Mondays off. You came to practically all of my orchestra’s concerts since we’ve known each other, I mean expect ballet but I understand. So it’s only fair I can see you work too, hey.”  
  


“Huh, I’ll have to ask my students if they are okay with having someone during the lesson, but I don’t see why not, I would certainly love to have you there,” the teacher snorts and adds with mirth. “Prepare something to play in case they ask for a demonstration from a professional musician, I’ll hype them up.”  
  


“Please don’t,” he groans, but he’s already going through the pieces he knows in his head to select the best one.

*

As he observes the professor correcting the bow hold of his student, making her laugh with a joke as he replaces her wrist to make it more relaxed, Brett realizes he almost forgot how kind and gentle Eddy can be.  
  


It’s because of how naturally, how cheekily the man behaves himself around him now, how much of a big baby he can be, how he still tries so hard to please, but without hiding himself under other pretenses. He likes this Eddy that is free around him, dorky laughter, bad puns and unashamed neediness seeping from him.  
  


But he remembers the heat in his body the first time he saw his neighbor in a suit, in his _Professor Chen_ persona. And it’s still there now, burning low in his stomach, and the way he stares is probably wildly inappropriate, his lips are wet, so he must have licked them unconsciously a couple of times already, and the student is giving him glances full of understanding from time to time. He should feel bad about being pitied by a twenty year old girl, but he’s too busy ogling at the way the grey blazer accentuates everything there is to accentuate about Eddy Chen.  
  


He had wondered if Eddy got shy around his students, a while ago, the first time they played with all of their friends. The answer is _No.  
  
_

As endearing as the thought was, he’s glad about this outcome, because this confident man, sure of his advice, gentle in the way he corrects, kind in his remarks, but undaunted when he demonstrates a part of the Sibelius Violin Concerto - this man is making his throat parched up in the best of ways. Then the professor opens half lidded eyes in the middle of a passage, arm unabashedly lowering the bow on the strings and stares directly at his soul with parted lips.  
  


Brett rarely had such an impulse to jump someone in public.

*

“I’d like to hear you play the whole thing,” he says as they are taking lunch together after the lesson.  
  


“Which whole thing?”  
  


“The Sibelius violin concerto you demonstrated to the girl. Plus, a Sibelius is also the first thing you ever heard from me, so hey, that would be cool.”  
  


 _I’ve always thought it would feel beautiful around you_ , he doesn’t say.  
  


“It’s a hard concerto, hey. I’ll see about that,” Eddy chuckles back.

*

Evening isn’t even fully settled when Brett hears the first notes from the apartment above.  
  


He can’t help but burst out laughing.  
  


It hadn’t been six hours since he asked the man for the Sibelius, and he’s already practicing.  
  


God, what an idiot, he thinks with so much fondness he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

*

Feelings spill from him as the notes spill from Eddy’s violin through the following months. 

Halted and insecure in the beginning. As time passes, they get more fluid, passages a bit smoother each time, and Brett feels privileged to hear how the piece is getting better and better, to be there from the first halted stages of practice until it sounds like a full performance.  
  


To know he’s the reason the whole building is invaded by Eddy’s playing every evening, every morning, every minute he isn’t giving a class or being with Brett.  
  


It flows freely now, the melody.   
  


His windows are open, the music and the sun moving inside his tiny apartment, everything is bigger, and Brett knows he’s in love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t know when I’ll publish part three :) I still have a whole MeloMania chapter to write before this, so probably by the end of the week. (Maybe I can’t conclude in three parts, there’ll be a part fourth, but don’t count on it, I still want to keep this short and don’t drag it on or it’ll lose its charm.)


	3. Third movement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brett agonizing over whether or not he should kiss Eddy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, third and last installment, like TwoSet’s diss track, a piece in three movement. And still like TwoSet’s diss track, the third one is little bit meh. I’m not proud of this, but hey. I was in a different headspace when I wrote this than the previous two chapters, so the colors of my writing are not the same, hopefully it’s still enjoyable.
> 
> Thank you Ria for the beta reading :D

## Third movement

Brett has been in love before, he thinks. After messing around a bit in university, his relationships started getting more serious, and he had loved all of them; the guys and girls he had tried to build something with.

Some had been musicians, some not.

But nobody has been like Eddy. 

This love he has, it’s so _full._ It’s filling him in his entirety, the little holes in his life he never realized were there. It shifts through every color, dynamics, rhythm and it may cover every genre. 

This love takes the elegance and lightness of Mozart, when they laugh in a sunny kitchen; borrows the evidence, the divine from Bach, when they play together, moving around music; then takes flight in the passion of Tchaikovsky, when confidence drips from Eddy and Brett’s throat is dry, his body throbs; it settles into Debussy, when they sit with the night creeping around them, sharing old stories and shortcomings.

He wants so much, but is fulfilled at the same time. He feels as if, even if he somehow managed to get more, there’s no place left inside of him for it; he’ll just explode and spill all the melodies of his love on the floor, dripping at Eddy’s feet, exposed.

It doesn’t seem like such a bad thing.

His life has shifted and on the tip of his tongue, there’s the taste of inevitability. There’s no going back from the way his stupid neighbor makes him _smile._

He doesn’t think he has ever smiled that much in his life, and all the reasons are so silly that he can barely believe himself sometimes.

A lesson plan he helped Eddy make the other day is forgotten on his table, because his memory is terrible, and he smiles.

A stain on his shirt, because Eddy spilt some wine on him, one night while they were having dinner, the freaking klutz, and he smiles.

A tag on the wall, because Eddy had giggled like a teenager a few weeks ago, saying it kinda looked like a dick, now it’s all Brett can see, and he smiles.

The four cups of bubble tea in his trash can, because Eddy just had to look at him, say - I want bubble tea, now - to have Brett already already ordering, and he smiles.

His rosin that he gets out of his case, because Eddy complained about having to go buy some more, and how could one grown man be so dramatic about having to buy some rosin for fuck’s sake, and he smiles.

There are bits of Eddy spread everywhere around him, wherever he looks and he smiles so damn much he must seem like a loon.

*

“You’re so smitten, it’s almost pathetic,” Phoebe slams two beers in front of Ray and him. 

He gets called out, of course he does, his friends aren’t blind, they see the way he behaves, the way he looks, the way he gets soft when Eddy is around, when Eddy is talked about, when the subject of Eddy isn’t even breached, but something somehow made him think of the teacher.

He’s a bit drunk already, because he’s a lightweight and they’ve been at the bar for the past hour, but Ray’s state is worse than his, so at least there’s that.

“You two have known each for, what? More than a year now?” Ray rolls his eyes. “You’ve almost been flirting since day one, what the heck are you waiting for? Written permission?”

“Actually- kinda…”

Tijana just raises her eyebrow, and it’s unfair how sober the girl seems, because Brett’s pretty sure she just downed three shots on top of her beers, and she’s even thinner than him. 

“You should make an eyebrow contest with Hyung, Tij,” he snorts. “I don’t know who has the most- is the most judgmental when you do that- that eyebrow thing.”

“ _You’re waiting for written permission?”_ Ray slaps the table before she gets the time to answer, because he’s unable to let go of anything, especially when it concerns his friends’ love lives, and it would be a bit concerning if Ray wasn’t so sweet, behind all the annoying.

“Not- not like that, exactly but- I just feel he’s not ready, I’m waiting for a sign or something.”

He learned through the time spent together, speaking with Sophie and Alex and those people surrounding Eddy, he learned about his neighbor’s previous relationship. This girl. How it lasted years - long enough that everybody thought they would get married - How it ended. How it left the teacher a little bit damaged, a little bit untrusting.

So he waits.

He wants to kiss him, all the time, now that he knows he loves him, wants to run his finger through his hair, to steal some of the shine from his lip, to feel his body heat - and damn it’s crazy how much he came to care for that childish man that somehow became one of the best things that ever happened to him. 

But he waits - he waits and hopes at one point, the other will be ready for it, for them, because he can see, can read in the light touches, in the glances, in the unique softness in Eddy’s voice, that he’s special too. 

He’s not sure - you’re never really sure about those things, some part of you always whispers - _you’re projecting, it’s wishful thinking_ \- but then Eddy is laughing, eyes sparking at something Brett said, even when it wasn’t that funny, he looks at him like he’s the world, and hope is surging again.

So they play together, they play for each other, they look and they talk and they share, but Brett’s waiting, and at this point he doesn’t even really know what he’s waiting for.

“Look mate, I understand you want to be considerate and all, that’s all to your honor, but the guy is the epitome of shy. What do you expect him to do? Barge into your apartment and kiss you all of a sudden?”

That- sounded weirdly appealing.

“Hey, Brett! Stop daydreaming, it won’t happen. I mean, it took him actual months to start talking to us normally, you need to take some initiative here. Be the one doing the barging inside the apartment and kissing stuff!”

“That’ll just totally freak him out.”

“I’m with Brett on that.”

“Phoebe!”

“No, Ray, don’t give me the betrayed look. He _will_ freak out. You need a more subtle approach, Brett. Don’t worry, we have this whole plan we talked about with Hyung-”

“If you have that much free time to talk about my love life, you should practice more,” he grumbles, but keeps being wholefully ignored.

“I thought about writing you a small script, but you wouldn’t bother learning it, so I decided not to-”

“You are worse than my mom when she tries to set me up, all of you.”

“I’m pretty sure we aren’t the only ones,” Tijana smiles.

*

They aren’t. 

It feels like a big conspiracy the whole world is into sometimes. 

The old lady from the first floor giggles with the mother of three when he comes back from rehearsal, and they suddenly go silent as soon as they see him, giving him the biggest grin and innocently asking about the other violinist neighbor. 

Whenever they bump into each other at the small shop down the street, the cashier keeps giving them compliments on how cute a couple they are, and they gave up on correcting him at this point.

Since Eddy shows up pretty much every weekend at his performances, the whole orchestra knows him by name, and he’s been _subtly_ pushed into the man so many times by now, the teacher must think Brett has a balance disorder of some sort.

There is also this one memorable time Eddy’s students locked them up in the classroom one Monday when he paid him a visit at work.

It feels like, as he falls more and more in love with Eddy, people get more and more involved in their relationship.

*

They’re playing Smash Bros together, at Brett’s apartment, because his TV is bigger, even though the game is Eddy’s. 

The teacher had sent him a Snapchat with the picture of a Switch in a store, a few weeks ago, with the caption ‘ _A new way to decide who plays first violin?’_ and Brett had called him instantly, said - _Hell yeah -_ and hung up. 

They’ve been spending way too much time on this since then, but it’s all worth it when Eddy wins and jumps around excitedly, bunny teeth distracting and hair flopping around while he screams in joy.

“Dinner’s on you tonight,” he sings songs.

“Dude! It’s been three nights in a row, that’s not fair.”

“Well, I guess you’ll just have to be better and actually beat me for once.”

“The Switch is at your place most of the time! You’ve got more time to practice Smash Bros than I do.”

“Nah, nah, nah. Excuses, excuses, Brett. I’m just bette-”

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence, a pillow is hitting him in the face. 

“Oh, so this is how you chose to respond? With violence?” Eddy is laughing, picking up the offending object and throwing it back. 

“You’re as much of a child as I am, if not worse,” Brett is aiming at his legs now.

“Yeah, well this child is still better than you-”

The pillow hits him in the head again, and before any of them can comprehend it, they are in a full blown war.

_How is he even supposed to be twenty eight?_ Brett thinks while Eddy is shrieking as his fingers dig in between the teacher’s ribs. Then he remembers he’s supposed to be twenty nine himself, so he just shrugs it off and continues his assault.

The pillows get forgotten at one point, probably when Brett started the tickling, and Eddy is thrashing around in his grip, screeching, and the neighbors are probably all having the wrong idea. Until the taller man manages to overcome his ticklishness enough to grab his wrists and pin them behind his back. 

“God, would you stop it now?” his neighbor wheezes, tears in his eyes, and choking on laughter.

They are both standing in the middle of the living room, the only light coming from the TV screen, still displaying Eddy’s character dancing in victory. Brett is pressed all against the teacher’s front, face in his shoulder, he’s laughing too but all he can really focus on is how much stronger the other is, how easy it was for him to pin his wrists like this, how large his hands are. He can’t escape the grip and there is a shortness in his breath that is not due to exertion, a heat building up, low in his belly, and he wants to stay here forever.

The other man doesn’t seem to mind. Their hilarity has died down by now, but they stay like this. He can feel the rise and fall of Eddy’s chest, he can smell the skin of his neck, he’s aware of the pressure of the fingers on his wrist.

“If I let you go now, how can I be sure you won’t tickle me again?”

His neighbor probably tried for one of his usual whiny tones, but his voice comes lower, throaty, rumbling unexpectedly and Brett can feel it vibrate against his own ribcage, reverberating in him and he wants to keep this sound prisoner there.

“I suppose you can’t,” he answers because that seems like the best way to stay trapped there. 

But then Eddy lets go of his wrists anyway, arms coming up around his shoulder, sags a bit against him.

“This feels nice, you’re a good hugger,” his friend mumbles in his hair. 

The heat dies down, only leaving comforting warmth, because now, everything is soft. 

“Thanks, I suppose.”

His own hands find their way to the other’s back, reciprocating the embrace. 

“Can we- huh. Can we stay like this? Just a bit longer? I- I kinda miss human contact,” Eddy stutters, and Brett has half a mind to tease, but he can see, can feel the red climbing up his neck, burning his face.

“Yeah, sure,” his answer is so soft he doesn’t recognize his voice.

So they stay like this, and it’s been- it's been a long time since Brett hugged someone like that, full bodied, just for the sake of human contact, just to share warmth and support. So he closes his eyes and enjoys every second of it.

*

That night, he lays down in his bed, eyes open, staring at the ceiling, and he gapes at what an idiot he is.

Was that it? The hug? Was that the sign? Did he miss it? Should he have kissed him?

Oh God, he should have, shouldn’t he? And now he didn’t and Eddy’s probably thinking he doesn’t like him that way and freaking out in his own bed and- 

He’s so _stupid._ He should have kissed him.

*

  
  


They don’t have the time to get weird about it.

“Dude!”

Brett barges in Eddy’s place unannounced, violin case still at his back, coming straight from rehearsal. He has to take a minute to breath because he ran all the way to the fifth floor, and he’s everything but an athlete. Eddy is staring at him owlishly, blinking behind his glasses, a book in one hand and a cup of tea in another. He looks strangely… grown up compared to the sillier version of this man he’s used to seeing.

“You won’t believe it!” he continues, because now is not the time to ogle him. “Hilary Hahn! Hilary Hahn is going to play with us!! She’s our soloist for our next concert!”

“No way! Dude, no way!”

Brett nods with all the enthusiasm in his body and Eddy’s mouth is hanging open, eyes round in wonder. Then he starts getting up, agitating his hands in every direction, and the illusion of a grown man is shattered, only leaving child Eddy behind.

“Oh my God! Fuck! That’s- Oh fuck! D’you think I can come backstage after and meet her? Oh that would be so, so cool!”

*

They meet Hilary Hahn, she signs both of their violin cases, this day stays in Brett’s memory as one of the best of his life, and they’re both so happy he doesn’t have the time to overthink not kissing Eddy. 

*

Good thing, he has friends for that.

“I still can’t believe you _didn’t_ kiss Eddy.”

“Ray! Keep your voice down, he’s on the other side of the room, he can hear you!” Brett whispers furiously.

They’re all hanging out on a Tuesday in the orchestra practice room again, under the pretense of doing music, Eddy is talking with Tijana as she shows him how to pedal the harp, and he looks focused enough he probably didn’t register Ray’s words.

“You know,” Hyung starts softly. “This was really fun at first, but after one year of pining this is starting to piss me off a little.”

The cellist takes a huge inspiration and speaks loudly enough his voice travels to the other side of the room, above the chatter of Sophie and Alex and the plucking of strings.

“Eddy.”

“Yeah?” the violinist turns toward the three of them.

“Would you mind terribly if Brett kissed you?”

Ray is choking on his own saliva, Phoebe is giving Hyung a disapproving shake of the head, Sophie’s hands smash the piano keys and Brett is dying from the inside. 

Eddy’s face is so red he might as well be a bassoon player, from the back of his neck to the tip of his ears, and he opens and closes his mouth a number of times before managing to get sounds out. His eyes dart to Brett’s and he licks his lips, swallowing.

“I- huh- what? I mean- I- this is- I suppose I don’t- don’t terribly mind, no.”

“Okay thank you, that was all,“ he turns to Brett. “There. You have it, your sign.”

*

“Remember when I told you about my colleagues teasing me about you? Yours are worse.’

Brett laughs, charmed despite himself by Eddy’s embarrassment. They’re back in their building, and everybody had nodded to them as they climbed the stairs together. He never remembered this place being so friendly before the teacher came. 

“I know, sorry about Hyung, he just- I don’t know what took over him,” he glances up and finds Eddy already staring at him. 

The other avoids his eyes and Brett snorts.

“Why don’t you look at me, am I not someone cute?”

“Oh God! Will you ever shut up with that? That was forever ago!”

Eddy opens his door and they both get inside, starting to get rid of shoes and scarves.

“I take back what I said when I helped you unpack last year though,” Brett keeps going, because Eddy is annoying enough most of the time, it’s always great to get back at him a bit. And his neighbor’s blushing face is worth everything. “You definitely weren’t hitting on me, you’re way too awkward to flirt.”

Eddy frowns and Brett can tell he’s honestly triggered. He’s about to joke and defuse it, but then something shifts. This confident skin the professor wears, now and then, envelops him, draps around his shoulder, and he doesn’t need the suit, the tamed hair and the professor title. It’s coming from within him, and he seems taller, broader, something in his eyes is different.

He steps forward, invading Brett’s space, the man’s hands flirt around his shoulder before settling at the lapel of his coat, removing it slowly. He’s way too close for what he’s doing, but Brett’s not about to complain. 

“You’ll have to excuse me about that,” he rasps, and even his voice is deeper, softer, somehow, coming from a low place in his chest. “I get nervous around you sometimes, I’m scared I’ll say the wrong thing and you’ll leave, which would be a shame, because I have never been more happy than since I met you.”

The coat is off now, and instead of going behind him to hang it, he just extends his arms, bend closer and closer until personal space is not even a concept, trapping him between his body and the hanger on the wall. The coat is hung, but he doesn’t back off.

Brett knows, he knows what the little shit is doing. He’s trying to prove to him he can be a flirt, in such an… such an Eddy way. Confident, vulnerable and a bit ridiculous. The same way he plays, opening his chest to reveal all the beauty and weirdness inside of him, giving to the spectator the possibility of destroying it, smashing everything precious. So he rolls his eyes and puts his hand on the other’s shirt, not knowing if he’ll push him away for some breathing room, or pull him in so he can drown in everything that is Eddy. 

The other’s fingers come up to cradle it.

“I really, really like your hands,” he smiles, teeth out and lips shiny, his character is breaking a little already.

“Yeah. They’re small though, you’re lucky you have big hands, some chordes just make my fingers suffer.”

“Hey, think of the tiny hands as allowing you to be closer to the music.”

“That was- Eddy that was terrible,” he bursts out laughing, and the teacher follows him in it, the shift is over and it’s just regular, shy Eddy in front of him, the one he fell in love with. 

“I know, that’s all I could find on the spot. This is hard, hey.”

“You did okay,” Brett smiles, “I’ve known worse flirts than that.”

“I’m flattered that you’ve seen _worse.”_

“You’re so easily triggered,” he snorts. Eddy’s hands are still cradling his own, he’s still so close and Brett very much wants to kiss him now. 

But he stares at his neighbor’s eyes, the sparkle in them, at the easy banter they have, at the thing in between them, this sweetness that never left, at his bunny teeth, his messy hair, his acne scars, and he’s afraid, suddenly, of ruining everything. Of getting up on his toes, grabbing his face, kissing him, and ruining everything, this now year long friendship they’ve built on bad flirting, violin playing, bubble tea ordering and late night dinners. 

“Do you want to have dinner here or just go back to your place?” Eddy finally asks after the silence went on for too long, freeing his hand.

Brett thinks- he thinks he needs something, one last sign, one last assurance he won’t screw this up.

“Actually… We haven’t played much today, with the others, maybe we could play a bit, at least one piece? To end the day?”

“Yeah sure! I would love that. What do you have in mind?”

Eddy is already opening his case, adjusting the music stand and he seems so happy to just- to just play with Brett. Nobody has ever been that happy to play with him, in a crappy apartment, in a grey building with meddling neighbors and bad isolation.

His chest is constricting around this love he has been carrying around, he doesn’t recognize any distinctive melody now, everything together; passion, softness, tranquility, trust, grandiose; every part of his love is begging for attention.

“Navarra?” the words escape his mouth on their own.

“Dude, I love playing Navarra.”

“I know, me too.”

They get their violin out, they share a look, breath in sync and lower their bows.

They play, smile at each other and Brett realizes he doesn’t need a sign, they’ll be okay, they won’t screw this up, they’re good for each other.

They climb, and climb, and climb, the notes on his violin, and they dance around them, birds chirping. They are in the middle of winter, but it is spring in this apartment. The night fell already, but they are creating puddles of sunlight warming each other’s skin. They’re swaying to their own music, eyes closed, devoted to the sound, gravitating toward each other, answering to the highs and lows of the music. His finger vibrates on the string, and his whole being vibrates with the joy pulsing inside of him. His chest expands, expands and expands, until he feels big enough to have it, to have more, to take everything, to give everything. There’s a shiver in his spine, he opens his eyes.

There’s so much gentleness meeting him in the other’s gaze, so much love, he doesn't know how he doubted.

It gets faster and faster and faster, higher and they smile, they laugh. 

The piece is over.

And from everywhere in their building, clapping. 

The old lady from the first floor, the mother of three, the drunk next door, the young couple, everybody is cheering and clapping, and they can only share a bewildered look.

“For what it’s worth,” Brett says, high on love. “I really like your hands, and I’ve never been more happy than since I met you too.”

He never gets to kiss Eddy.

Because Eddy kisses him.

And everything about it is so Eddy-like his heart wants to burst. It’s soft lips firmly pressed against his own, but there’s a trembling in it, a fear that never really goes away, except when Brett kisses back, hands going through his hair, pulling a bit at the strands. The vulnerability is still there, then, but it manifests itself in a different way. It’s in how the other surges forward to meet him, how his mouth gets hungry, how his hands can’t stop roaming, how there’s a tear going down the teacher’s cheek, and Brett pretends to ignore it, because it all shows Eddy cares so much, too much. He opens his chest again, by pressing their lips against each other, and there’s nothing but love.

Suddenly, Brett wonders if his own chest will ever be large enough to take it all.

*

“I can’t believe you were so slow to kiss Eddy, that Eddy had to kiss you! _I’m-shy-when-there’s-more-than-two-people-in-the-room_ Eddy!”

“Shut up, Ray,” Brett rolls his eyes.

“I feel like I should be offended, but he’s right though, it really took forever,” Eddy says, readjusting the violin under his chin.

“Shut up you too, you also could have made a move before.”

“Nah. I think things are perfect just the way they happened,” Eddy smiles.

The man is insanely cute, even when he shouldn’t be, with his wiry glasses, bunny teeth showing, messy hair and acne scars. But it somehow works for him. Maybe it’s the sparkles in his slanted eyes, maybe it’s the broad shoulders, maybe it’s that he's tall enough that Brett barely reaches his nose, maybe it’s the way his lower lip juts out, shiny and bitten. Whatever it is, it’s working.

“You’re such a sap. I can’t believe I’m dating you.”

“C’mon, you love me.”

“Yeah, he does,” all of their friends answer together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here! It’s done. 
> 
> Once again, I’m not satisfied, I think this one is the worst of the three chapters, but I decided to publish it anyway, otherwise I would never have ended this three-shots.
> 
> For those who haven’t please go check out [MeloMania](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25096306/chapters/60795517), I swear it’s good :D

**Author's Note:**

> Damn, I’m basically writing a rom-com. I hope it’s at least enjoyable xD


End file.
